


10 Years Later

by sailorstkwrning



Series: a not-fairytale 'verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Like
Genre: Gen, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorstkwrning/pseuds/sailorstkwrning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For egelantier, who wanted to know what was going on 10 years after the events of A Not-Fairytale. Contains badly fractured Latin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 Years Later

"Abba Brendawn!" Ailsa calls out, running towards them through the fields, her golden braids gleaming in the sun. "Equus! Venire!"

Her brother Iagan, Brendon's unwilling student for the morning, takes this as his excuse to abandon his studies and run towards her. Brendon straightens up, still clutching the flower he had been discussing, and follows him.

When he reaches them they are practically dancing in place with eagerness to get away.

"Equus?" Brendon asks, as they walk back towards the gates.

"Equus," Ailsa confirms over her shoulder, tugging her brother onwards. "Equi, currus, equestris." 

Brendon stuffs the flower in his pocket and picks up the pace. They aren't expecting anyone, and Ailsa's affection for the animals aside, horses, riders, and carts may be harbingers of more unrest on the border.

When they arrive in the courtyard, though, he is not met with either the burly warriors or the terrified huddled refugees he is expecting. Instead he finds the men clustered around one horse and one wagon, their sword practice forgotten. He spots Spencer's bright braids towards the front of the crowd, and begins wiggling his way forward.

The men step aside as soon as they notice him, so his appearance is almost dignified. All of that slips away when he realizes who has come. It is Ryan, returned from the south, and there is someone with him: a tiny woman, with a fierce face, and, Brendon realizes with a little shock, a distinctively rounded belly.

"Abba," Ryan says, letting loose of the woman's hand, and stepping forward to hug Brendon.

Brendon clutches him both helplessly and tightly. He is as slender as ever, but still solid; his hair has grown long and falls over his shoulders in a riot of curls. After a moment Ryan lets him loose and steps back.

"Abba," Ryan says. "Velle nuptus?"

"Yes," Brendon says, still startled and a little overwhelmed but also deeply pleased – grateful, even – that Ryan came home to be married, whatever the reason for it.

Ryan grins broadly, and Brendon lets Spencer ask the rest of the questions.


End file.
